This man has got a breathe to share
But why does he hide his bare scalp in the grove of his hair?
And buries his face on his knees
And doesn’t seem to look on the storm smitten trees?
Hark thee! The roar and rush of his nerves died away,
As the fruits, wreathed in smiles, are gone to the last day…
Ah! He had held them close to his heart
Now their mere appearance tears him apart!